


Words Weren't Meant to Hurt

by Mia_Zeklos



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:06:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mia_Zeklos/pseuds/Mia_Zeklos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan should've known better than asking questions about his family - especially when it comes to his father. Taking place about 10 years before CoB.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Weren't Meant to Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this isn't even a proper one-shot – more like a drabble, but I've had it written for a long time now and I decided that it's decent enough to be posted. Half of it is completely my idea, the other half is inspired by Cassandra Jean's fanart – you can find it on her blog.
> 
> Reviews are always welcome, so feel free to share your opinion! :)

Jonathan was sitting in the fields near his home, staring at the rising sun. He was freezing, but it was a good sensation – in a way – because it made him feel alive and the wounds on his back didn't hurt as much as they did back in the house. His eyes were burning and almost aching as he was trying to hold back the tears of pain that threatened to fall.

"Jonathan?" his father's voice was rather annoyed. "Where are you? Don't make me look for you, because when I find you…"

He didn't want to hear what his father would do to him, so he stood up and shouted, "I'm over here!"

Valentine approached him; a scowl on his face. Jonathan couldn't help but cringe slightly at the sight of the whip in his hand.

"What are you doing there?" he asked. "Come back here, it's time for your training."

"Where were you?" The six-years-old boy asked as he made his way to his father. "You left the other day and I haven't seen you since then."

"Are you questioning me, Jonathan?" Valentine asked. The question was simple and the man's voice was soft, but the boy could feel the threat and shook his head in panic.

"No," he whispered. "Of course I'm not."

"I was with your brother," Valentine said, much to his son's surprise. He rarely told him anything.

"Tell me about him," Jonathan said commandingly and his father glanced back at him as he sat down on the ground as well. "Please," the boy hurried to add. "What does he look like?"

"I've already answered that question, Jonathan," Valentine said. He already sounded irritated, and they've been talking for a minute.

"I've forgotten," he lied. "Tell me again."

Truth was that he remembered every word about that other boy – Jonathan, just like him – but he wanted to hear it again, because the conversations about him were the only times when his father told Jonathan that he was better than someone else.

"Does he look like me?" he persisted.

"No," Valentine said with a small sigh. "He doesn't. His hair and skin aren't as light as yours – and his eyes are golden."

"And what did you do with him in the last days?" The boy asked.

"Teaching him Latin."

"Oh. How is he doing?" Not that he actually cared about it. He just wanted to get his father to talk. "Is he better than me?"

"No." Valentine's voice sounded as if he thought that it was obvious. "Angel blood does not change the way your mind works, Jonathan."

 _Unlike the blood of a demon_ , Jonathan thought and something tightened inside his chest. Was that why his mother had left? Because his father had experimented with his children? He had always wondered.

"Is she ever coming back?" he asked all of a sudden. His father gave him a surprised look – he apparently wasn't on the same train of thought as his son.

"My mother? Is my mother ever coming back?"

Something changed in Valentine's eyes and the boy felt almost guilty for asking – the man looked as if his heart was broken. "No, Jonathan," he said at last, his voice surprisingly quiet and calm. "She isn't ever coming back."

"Is she dead?" Jonathan insisted. It was the one topic he had always wanted to start, but had been too afraid to. If he had gotten this far, there was no point in stopping now. "Dead means never coming back."

"No, she isn't dead."

The boy didn't know how to feel about that. He hadn't even met her, but he still felt relief wash over him at that. And hope. Maybe he would meet her one day.

"Then why did she go away?" he asked.

He was still afraid that it was because of his father and that Valentine would get really angry at him for asking all these questions, so he was stunned when the man said, "Because of you." His voice was extremely cold. "Because there's something wrong with you."

"Oh." But of course, Jonathan thought, he should have thought of that. He had always known that, even though his father hadn't really dwelled on it. Maybe he thought that his son was still too young for explanations. "Can you fix me?" he asked softly and squeezed his closed eyes as he waited for the answer.

Valentine had apparently had enough of the conversation by now. A loud sigh could be heard and then his father's irritated voice.

"Nothing can make her love you, J." he said as if he had guessed Jonathan's thoughts. "Only I love you. Only I can love a monster. Do you understand?"

His father had only said that because he was angry, Jonathan told himself. He wasn't a monster. There was nothing wrong with him. Nothing. Nothing. He kept repeating it like a mantra until it eventually became true and there was nothing that could convince him otherwise.

Still avoiding his father's eyes – even though he could feel the man's gaze at the back of his head – Jonathan buried his head in his knees, doing his best to ignore the pain and the anger that were about to tear him apart once he gave in to them.

"Yes."


End file.
